Imperfect
by GiorgiaKerr
Summary: Just like that. A familiar voice, uttering two little, imperfect words, and his whole world seemed to collapse in on itself. - Post 16x10 (spoilers). After she gets back to England, Nikki calls Harry.


**Author's Note:** I will literally never be over this ever.

* * *

He thought that she'd probably had a speech prepared. Something to start with. Words. Perfect words. Like any words for this could be perfect.

He knew she'd probably fought to be the one to tell him. And he knew also that what she'd said hadn't been what she'd planned. Not at all. Because all her perfect words had left her head the second he'd picked up the phone. And then it was nothing. Nothing but raw emotion, and he knew she wasn't exaggerating.

_Harry, I need you._

How vulnerable, how scared, must Nikki Alexander be to allow herself to break like that. To be less than perfect and less than together.

She needed him. And he was 5000 miles away. Six years ago, those same words had been harmless. Amusing, innocent, playful, flirtatious. But this wasn't six years ago. This was now. And now was different.

The way she said his name; her first word to him in almost a month, and it had immediately taken the wind out of him. Torn a hole he'd thought healed in his chest. Something. Something was horribly wrong. Because he'd heard Nikki's say his name like this before. It was the way she'd said it in Budapest, the way she'd said it in a car in the woods, the way she'd said it in her apartment. Her voice was rough, like his name had been torn out of her.

_Leo's dead._

Just like that. A familiar voice, uttering two little, imperfect words, and his whole world seemed to collapse in on itself.

_Leo's dead._

Her voice hitched on the last syllable; a sharp, quick intake of breath. He thought that maybe, probably, it was the first time she'd said it out loud. He wanted to comfort her, somehow, in some abstract kind of way, but mostly, he just wanted this to not be happening. Because obviously this couldn't be happening.

_Leo's dead._

He repeated it to himself over and over.

It seemed impossible, more than anything. Leo. Leo? No. Of course not. Leo had survived so much, they all had. Leo was going to live into old age: retire, buy a house in the country, be Harry's best man, keep Nikki out of trouble. He wasn't supposed to do this.

This wasn't supposed to happen – it couldn't happen, because Harry hadn't been there.

It wasn't fair, it wasn't _right _for Leo to die now, but Harry knew better. Harry of all people knew that the world didn't work like that, not ever, not for anyone. People died. It's what they did. It's what every person on the planet has in common, Leo had told him once.

At the time, he'd laughed.

It didn't stop him from wondering, though. Thinking that maybe, just maybe, if he hadn't left, this wouldn't have happened. Leo would be alive, and his best friend wouldn't sound tiny and terrified on the other end of the phone. Harry wouldn't have collapsed into the nearest chair, trying to remind himself to breathe. Wouldn't be gripping the phone so hard he was afraid he'd break it, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw hurt.

Neither said anything for a long time. He didn't think there was anything to say. Maybe he should have asked, _How_? Should have asked, _When_, _where_, _why_? He didn't. He let the silence echo over the line.

Never had he felt further from home; never more alone than right now. Not in South Africa, not in Hungary, not even New York. Never had he felt further from London, from his friends, from Nikki.

From Leo.

Finally, he heard the sound of ice rattling in a glass, and a deep sigh. Nikki spoke slowly, deliberately, now.

She gave him the how, the when and where and why. Her words sounded flat, awkward over the distance, but he heard every one of them as clearly as had she been standing next to him. He wanted to hang up – it was as though it made it all real. Here, she was saying, here is the evidence. But he didn't hang up, didn't want to be alone. Didn't want to picture Nikki at the other end of the phone, listening to the dial tone. Because he could picture the mask she wore now, even though he knew she was alone. Alone, guarded, and imperfect. How could he have left her so alone? How could Leo?

_Jesus Christ, Leo. What the fuck were you doing in Afghanistan?_ He wanted to ask Nikki, came so close, but he knew she'd probably already blamed herself for that.

They were silent again for what felt like an hour. It could have been three days. The next words he heard jolted him out of numbness. _Bye, Harry_.

He wanted to tell her not to hang up. Instead he said, _Bye_. The line went dead and he dropped his phone. He stood up. His legs hurt. His eyes burned and he moved into the kitchen. Hands reached automatically for Scotch, body turned around to find a glass, but instead found a fist connecting with the wall. Pain shot up his arm. He did it again, felt the skin on his knuckles split. A yell came out as a sob, and he collapsed against his fridge, bottle in one hand, blood slowly coagulating on the other.

Leo's dead.

It wasn't until dawn that he stood up to book a flight.


End file.
